


Miseryhead

by vixalicious



Series: Ours Trilogy [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF, lotrips
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-30
Updated: 2003-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixalicious/pseuds/vixalicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ours Trilogy:  Three unrelated stories, inspired by songs by the band Ours</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miseryhead

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit, no truth.
> 
> Warnings: Attempted angst, suicide (sort of)
> 
> A/N: Thanks to shrinetolust for the fantastic beta! If there is anything you find good in this fic, it is thanks to her, and if you don’t enjoy it, well, you ought to have seen what she talked me out of doing! *G* Title and lyrics belong to Ours.
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT: repost this story anywhere (links are fine, recs are fantastic, reposting is bad), mention it on any non-fandom site such as (but not limited to) Goodreads, or read/share any excerpt from it in any public forum (radio, television, convention, etc) without the express written permission from the author. Thank you!

_Oh, God, no!_

Sean jerked awake, sitting straight up in bed. The hotel sheets, damp with sweat, were tangled around his body like an anaconda, slowly choking the life out of him. He was shaking, shivering really, the fear still a living presence in his mind.

The vision had been so real, so final. He’d seen the hallway, stretching out in an infinite, bland highway of taupe in either direction. He’d seen himself knocking at the door, banging endlessly, to no avail. Then, in that bizarre way dreams work, he’d been sucked back into his body as he’d put his shoulder into it and broken down the door. The hotel room he stumbled into was a mirror image of his own, with everything in the exact opposite place.

And then the blood. He’d smelled it in the dream, known that the dark, bitter, metallic scent meant something was horribly wrong. But nothing had prepared him for walking into that bathroom. On the floor, on the sink, on the walls. His brain felt thick, he couldn’t process what his eyes saw. His logical mind, the part that was screaming that this was just a dream, knew there was too much fluid for what had happened, but that inner voice was drowned out by rising panic. In the end, Sean just saw the blood. Orlando’s blood.

He’d had to force himself to look, to follow the trail drying burgundy on the tile. Fought back the tears and the bile that were furiously trying to escape the confines of his body. Looked into that striking face, too still, too pale, with tracks of tears running down the planes and smooth angles. Saw Orli’s eyes, his deep, chocolate, laughing eyes, staring lifelessly into space. 

Orlando had chosen to meet death in the bathtub, as if looking for a place that would wrap itself around him in his last moments, a place that would hold him in its arms as his soul flowed out via the slashes across his wrists. In one hand, dangling over the edge of the tub, was the straight razor. The old-fashioned one Sean had given him for Christmas, saying that Orli needed the trappings of an elegant gentleman to match the face he’d been given. 

Now the mother of pearl handle was stained red, and a drop, just one drop, of Orli’s blood danced along the edge of the blade, teetering as it lost its balance and fell to the floor. The sound, a plinking, like a leaky faucet, sent shockwaves through the room and into Sean’s soul. 

He felt the sound running through his body, little electric jolts streaming through arteries, burning him clean through with the knowledge that Orli was dead. Orli was dead. In that instant, he felt the pain, the grief, the guilt ricochet through him. 

That was when he’d jolted up, trying to catch his breath and bring himself back into the realm of reality. _Just a fucking dream._ There was no blood. Orli wasn’t dead. Orli wouldn’t kill himself over Sean, over anybody. He was too strong for that. Wasn’t he? 

As he sat there gasping to fill his blazing lungs, other images began to run through his head, real images, memories. Orli, laughing and flirting with Sean at the numerous nights out on the town during the beginning of the shoot. The earnestness with which Orli had listened to Sean’s explanations of why they would never, ever have anything together. Adoration shining in those eyes that were impossibly dark and bright at once as Orli stared up at him, sliding wet, magical lips over the head of Sean’s cock for the first time. 

That fateful night, Sean had gotten drunk enough to turn a deaf ear to the litany of reasons his brain ran through each time Orli tempted him, to listen instead to the yes-yes-yes-yes chanting through the fibers of his soul, to take what was so frequently offered to him. The one-night stand turned into a full-blown affair, and then to something deeper. Sean hadn’t thought it was in him to love another man, but with each passing day he’d found it impossible to resist Orlando. Orli, he thought, was everything Sean was not: open, trusting, smooth, pure.

He had tried, really _tried_ , not to screw up this relationship, but love had never been an easy road for Sean. Now there was new imagery with which to contend. The kicked-puppy hurt in Orli’s eyes each time Sean refused to make their relationship known to anyone, including their close friends. The fighting, the sulking, the cajoling, the _for-god’s-sake-can’t-I-just-tell-Elijah_ pleadings when six months, then a year passed without Sean relaxing his guard. 

Even now, after literally years of working together, not one member of the fellowship had a hint of the intimacy the two had shared. No one knew they lived together, because Sean insisted they keep two homes. No one knew they took roles to be with each other, that they vacationed together, that they had merged their lives. Most especially, no one knew they loved. So it followed if Orli was strong enough to survive the hell Sean had already put him through, then what had happened last night wouldn’t drive him to the unspeakable acts of Sean’s nightmares.

* * * * * * *

The events of the last 24 hours played through Sean’s head, burned to light as though his memory were snippets of film running through a projector. Arriving at the hotel. Meeting Orli in the lobby, letting him hug him, but pulling away after a minute despite their months-long separation.

Sean saw the old hurt flash for a split second before Orli schooled his features into a mask of friendship. I’ve made him a better actor, Sean remembered thinking, grimly. 

When they bumped into Elijah and Billy disembarking the elevator, he watched Orli act as if he’d just run into Sean in the lobby, instead of having waited for him for hours, willing him to arrive like a schoolboy wills his parents to awake on Christmas morning. 

The scenes ran quicker then, impatience tinged with lust speeding the frames. The long walk down the corridor to Sean’s room, “coincidently” across the hall from Orli’s own. The eager, trembling feel of Orli’s body as the door swung shut and locked them away from prying eyes and Orli all but leapt into his arms, knocking over his luggage and knocking him into the wall. Moans and sighs, from both of them, as each reacquainted himself with the body of a lover long absent. The blissful floating after, lying with his arms around Orli and his hands petting all the Orli parts he could reach, thinking that if it could always be like this, just them, all would be right with the world.

And then the inevitable fight.

"It’s just a party at Lij’s," Orli started as they were getting ready for the premiere, and Sean knew he was headed down a path they’d tread many times before. "Just the Fellowship. He says it’s to mark the beginning of the end."

"That’s bloody morbid," Sean remarked as he attempted for the third time to get Orli’s tie straight. The lad ought not get a tux with a Windsor tie if he didn’t know how to put it together on his own, he thought. 

"Yeah, I s’pose. It is the last film, though, the end of an era for us all, you know what I mean?" Orli said, too fast, as though his nerves were getting the better of him as he worked up to his point. Sean could see it coming, and he tried to think of a diversion quickly, before Orli said what couldn’t be unsaid and the bubble of happiness they’d built that afternoon burst. But then- "We could tell them then. They’re our friends, they’ll be happy for us, they won’t judge-"

"No." Curt and clipped, he couldn’t keep the anger out of his answer to the oft-raised argument.

"But-"

"Orli, we’ve been through this. A thousand times. No."

"Can’t we even discuss-"

"I said no."

"Oh, and the almighty Sean Bean has spoken," Orli’s mouth twisted bitterly as he pulled away from Sean’s hands and turned toward the mirror. He grabbed the cologne bottle off the sink with shaking hands, started to remove the stopper to apply it, and then suddenly threw it against the wall. Glass shattered and slid down the wall of the bathtub into the sink as Sean stared at him in shock. "Goddammit, not this time! I am not a fucking child."

"Then stop behaving like one." Sean returned, trying to tamp down his rising frustration.

"Give me one reason, one _good_ reason, why we can’t share our love with our friends. I understand that the world can’t know, I get that. I thought I understood in the beginning..."

"Orli, I-"

"No," Orli interrupted. "I’m going to get this fucking said. I thought, OK, it’s his first time. His world is changing. He just needs time to adjust. Then I thought later, he knows more about films, life on location, and he’s just trying to shield me, shield us both from gossip and innuendo. When filming’s done, he’ll surely want to shout it from the rooftops," he grabbed Sean’s shoulder and shook him. "Shout it, like I wanted to. Like I still want to, shout that I love this man, that I love you..." His voice broke, and he sagged against the sink countertop, his outburst seeming to have drained his energy. 

"I love you, I do," Sean slid his arms around the younger man’s shoulders, cupping Orli’s head in his hands, embedding his fingers in those inviting curls. "But it’s private, this thing between us. No one need ever know... it’s ours-"

"Ever?" Orli nearly shouted. He was on his feet and pulling away from Sean. "Are you saying you’ve no intention of ever telling anyone? A lifetime of silence? For fuck’s sake, it’s not the fifties anymore. We’re allowed this, Sean."

He stomped out of the bathroom as if the space was too small to hold his anger and hurt. Sean caught up with him in the bedroom, nearly to the window, and wrapped his arms around Orli tight. Orli struggled against him but he was no match for the older man’s size and strength. "I know it’s not the fifties, Orli. But why do they need to know? What do we gain by them knowing?" He murmured the words into Orli’s ear, nuzzling and soothing. 

"We gain peace," Orli whispered. "I’m not like you, Sean. I can’t just compartmentalize my life, with friends here, work there, and lover in the space left over." He turned to face Sean, anger lending a bitter edge to his voice as he spoke. "Either you love me or you don’t."

Sean felt the wall of anger he’d been holding back rise in a flood of sunburst-bright rage. "Don’t you fucking try to manipulate me, Orlando!"

Orli’s face went ghost white as he realized the consequences of the ultimatum he’d just issued. "I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t-"

"Oh, I think you fucking meant it... tell the world or we’re done, is that it? Let’s just be crystal fucking clear about this, shall we?"

"No, no, I don’t know what-"

"You want an answer?" Sean raged, the anger from this argument blending with the built up tension of every argument and the guilt of pushing down that small voice in the back of his mind that said Orli was right, until reason left him. "Well, get the fuck out of my room. There’s your fucking answer!"

He started for the door, a panicked Orli following him. "No, I won’t go. Let’s talk about this," Orli begged, pulling on Sean’s arm to stop him as they reached the door. "Don’t do this. You love me, I know you do."

"We can’t keep doing this. Why don’t you just go?" Sean suggested coldly, and wrenched the door open.

Orlando stared at him, pain and love swirling in his ever-expressive eyes. Sean, powered by the icy fury rushing through his veins, met his gaze levelly and with steel in his eyes and his heart. Head bowed, Orlando walked past him. Sean slammed the door behind his retreating form.

* * * * * * *

They made it through the premiere somehow. After all, they were both professionals. He made sure to keep at least three people between him and Orli at all times. He never once looked him in the eye. He didn’t speak to him all throughout the showing or the after-party at Elijah’s. Sean hadn’t even wanted to go, but in the end hadn’t had strength left to fight Elijah’s entreating presence. So he’d settled for getting blind drunk, quickly, and leaving early as his official party plan. He’d helped himself to the rotgut American whiskey that Elijah had on hand and pretended to have a good time.

Pretended not to notice when Orli left the party, once, twice, three times. 

Pretended not to be concerned when Billy confided that Orli must have food poisoning or something, because he was hurling his guts out in the bathroom. 

Pretended not to care when the boys bundled Orli into a taxi and sent him home to bed. 

He left not long after, in another taxi, trying not to think about how alone Orli must have felt during the same ride, how he must have wanted someone to hold him like Sean had during the bout of flu Orli’d suffered through last year. 

To quell the self-recriminations that kept seeping into his brain, he sat at the hotel bar for another hour, downing his whiskey straight and steady until the synapses in his brain stopped firing altogether and the bartender wisely cut him off. He staggered to his room, stripped to the skin and fell into the sheets, offering a quick prayer of thanks that housekeeping had changed them to ones with no trace of Orli’s unique scent on them. With that final thought, he gave himself over to oblivion.

Then the dream had woken him. Disturbed him. Hell, scared him to the point that the saliva in his mouth dried up. But it was just a dream. Orli would never, Orli would never, he repeated it in his mind like a mantra as he struggled out of the tangled sheets. Orli would never, Orli would never, as he tripped and fell while trying to pull on both legs of his trousers at once. He pulled them over his hips without bothering to fasten them.

Orli would never, as he bounded out of his room barefoot and crossed the hallway to Orli’s door. Never, never, never as he knocked vigorously on the wood. No answer. He fought down the fear and the nausea as his mind made the connection between reality and dream. Dream, pray God not premonition. Never, never, as he began pounding on the door. The door, not quite latched, began to vibrate open. He gave it one final shove, and the door flew open.

* * * * * * *

Orli sat alone in the darkness, balanced on the wide window ledge, his headphones on, CD spinning in his portable player. The volume was cranked to its highest option and the dark, lonely, angry sounds poured directly into his eardrums.

_christ, your head. what's it become?  
while the whole world's out having fun_

Elijah had given him the CD before they’d sent him home. He felt like a complete git for getting ill. It was just seeing Sean, looking at his face, completely emotionless as he leaned against a wall, slamming down whiskey. Orlando had always felt an odd sense of pride that Sean let him behind the mask. It had hurt so much to be shut out. 

He’d told Lij he wasn’t really sick, that it was a personal problem, but please, please don’t mention it to anyone, just need to go home, be alone, deal with things. Elijah had looked at him, so much sadness and helplessness etched on his face. And then he’d brightened, and run out the bathroom door, returning seconds later, flipping through a huge CD holder. "What you need is to wallow, really embrace the hurt. Then you’ll feel better!"

A laugh so bitter it sounded painful to his own ears escaped Orlando. "Sometimes you’re just so fucking Californian, Elwood."

But he took the proffered disc, putting it carefully in his jacket pocket.

_i'm in a cloud, it's pulling me down, breaking me down_

"Give it a listen, call me if you need anything," Lij cautioned, his blue eyes filling with concern.

"Fine, I’ll be fine, just don’t tell anyone," he’d mumbled, feeling stupidly like he’d betrayed Sean by mentioning this much, even though he hadn’t really told Lij anything. 

Lij had given his word, and helped the others tuck him into a cab. He’d had to concentrate really hard all the way back to the hotel, concentrate on not crying, on not throwing up, on not feeling. He’d charged a bottle of tequila to his room from the hotel bar, and took his first slug of it in the lift. Oddly, his upset stomach didn’t rebel as expected, perhaps realizing that he needed the buffer alcohol offered, the edge of reality that it smoothed away.

_i'm in a cloud, it feels like a crowd of a hundred, it's five degrees here  
nobody sees, somebody please, save me_

He stared out the window into the dark night. When he’d left Sean’s room, he hadn’t really thought it was over. They’d fought before, maybe not quite like this, but still... he’d been prepared to kiss and make up. Before the premiere, he’d waited in his room for an hour for a knock that never came. Then he’d gone on down, caught a ride to the theatre with Elijah. Sean had been in the car behind them. Orli had braced himself for the familiar act of playing the part of the good mate. Sean had other ideas, though, and ignored him completely. Didn’t look at him, didn’t talk to him, didn’t go anywhere fucking near him. 

_this is the sound of my miseryhead_  
choke on the taste of my miseryhead  
dance to the words of my miseryhead  
this is the sound of my miseryhead 

That was when Orlando had realized that he must have meant it: they were done. As he sat alone in his room, he wondered how they’d let it go this far.

_i'm in a cloud, it's pulling me down, breaking me down_

They’d been leading up to this for months, he knew. An infection that had taken hold and spread through all aspects of an otherwise perfect life. He just couldn’t let it go, couldn’t stop picking at the subject. 

He’d thought, in retrospect vainly, that he could charm Sean into changing his mind. Sean was right about one thing. He’d acted like a child in the past, throwing tantrums to get his way. He thought about the time he’d wasted, the times he’d pouted, refused to speak, tried to wheedle a concession, rather than having an actual discussion. Dear God, he realized, I have never even asked him why, never listened to his reasons. At least not calmly, rationally, with care.

He knew he’d been content to let Sean be the adult, enjoyed the attention, the pampering. Sean was the one person he could count on always, the rock, the anchor in his world.

He thought about the late nights filled with passion and laughter, the phone calls from Sean, the way he always seemed to just know when Orli was at the end of his rope and needing comfort, the lilting rise and fall of his Yorkshire tones as he reminded Orlando to get some sleep and take his vitamins and a million other things that simply translated to "I miss you" and "I love you."

_turn around_  
what's that sound?  
i'm in your head  
i thought i heard him say, he'd rather be dead, than  
live life apart...we're apart...we're apart 

He hugged his knees tighter to his chest. All that love, even when it was unspoken, and he’d thrown it away. He wanted to cry, but he was out of tears, the need to shed them turning instead to an ache that centered in his chest and spread to the tips of his toes and ends of his hair. 

_this is the sound of my miseryhead_  
choke on the taste of my miseryhead  
dance to the words of my miseryhead  
this is the sound of my miseryhead 

Fucking depressing music, he thought. He started to reach for another CD as the song finished. Suddenly, a solid spear of light flashed across the room as the exterior door flew open. Cheap sheetrock dented as the door slammed into the wall so hard it started to bounce back the way it had come. A muscled arm stopped its trajectory.

Sean. 

Orli stared, open-mouthed, still hidden in the shadows.

"Orli!" Sean was shouting as he threw open the bathroom door and switched on the light. His knees buckled under him as his mind gratefully processed the lack of blood. 

"Sean?" Voice breaking, Orli ran to the bathroom, wondering what the hell was happening. 

Orli took in the sight of Sean on his knees, staring at the empty bathtub. He reached out and cupped Sean’s chin in his hand, turning his face up to see a swirl of panic and confusion slowly clearing out of green eyes.

"Oh, thank Christ," Sean breathed, throwing his arms around Orli’s waist and buried his face in the younger man’s abdomen. His sobs shuddered through them both, as Orlando buried his fingers in Sean’s thick hair and tried to soothe him. Sean captured both hands and brought them in front of him. He just needed to see for himself. The olive skin was smooth to his touch as he ran thumbs across the inside of the wrists, across the unmarred veins, where he could feel the quick throb of Orli’s pulse. He kissed one wrist tenderly, and then released them both.

Orli didn’t know what to do or say. He still hadn’t a clue as to what had caused this physical and emotional outburst. He pulled Sean to his feet. The larger man stumbled, still not quite steady, and Orli caught and pulled him close. Sean’s arms went around him and held him tightly, so tightly Orli thought he might squeeze all the air out of him. And then, Sean began running his hands all over Orli, stroking and caressing him. He pulled the ripped t-shirt over Orli’s head, and then his lips followed his hands over the velvety skin of Orli’s chest. 

Orli tried to ask what had happened, but talking only drew Sean’s attention to his lips. In between oral assaults, Orlando caught a few words, "A dream... so much blood... sorry, sorry...didn’t answer...thought I’d lost you...love you, love you so much, don’t leave me, forgive me."

Explanations didn’t seem so important any more. Joy rocketed through Orli as he realized that whatever started this bizarre chain of events had given him back his Sean. Nothing else mattered. He caught Sean’s jaw in hand, and brought his lover’s lips back to his. Taking control, he traced the outline of Sean’s lips with the tip of his tongue, then pressed forward into a full kiss, ending with a nip at Sean’s lower lip. 

As their tongues tangled together, Orli skimmed his hands down Sean’s powerfully built chest, tapering his long fingers lightly down and following the light trail of hair to the gaping fastener on Sean’s trousers. The head of Sean’s rock-hard cock was poking through the opening of his undone slacks. Orlando began to stroke him, slowly, softly, cupping and caressing him. 

Sean groaned and captured both of Orli’s wandering hands and pulled them behind his own neck, drawing him into a tight embrace, skin to skin. All he could think was, "Bed... now," and he thought he might have said it aloud as Orli flashed a quick grin at him. Growling, he leaned over, picked Orlando up and threw him over his shoulders. They moved across the hall, where thankfully Sean had left his door wide open in his haste to get to Orli. He shut the door, then walked over to the bed and dropped Orli on top of it. He looked down at the half naked man and smiled wickedly.

He spread Orli’s arms wide and trailed kisses from one palm to the other. He traced the lines of Orli’s chest, licking and sucking at the expanse of exposed flesh as he went. Streaks of fire rumbled through Orlando, rippling the muscles of his stomach.

Orlando lifted his hips, helping the slide of jeans, down and discarded to the floor. Raised on elbows, he watched as Sean hastily removed his own clothing. Watched with heated melting chocolate eyes, caressing a path down the lover standing before him naked. Sean thought briefly that he’d never seen desire until he had looked into Orli’s eyes. Then he didn’t think anymore, as he lowered himself on top of Orlando, and they began to move together. Heat against heat, tumbling, stroking, wanting. Kissing, swallowing each other’s moans, leaving only snippets of sound to escape, devouring proffered flesh. 

Sliding, heat, so much heat, they must be burning, please, now, more, thoughts swirling through Orli as he felt the pressure building in them both. Explosion, sweet and painful, flowing into him, then Sean’s low chant of "love you, love you, baby" rumbling into his ears.

Sean curled Orli against him, back to chest and nestled his chin against Orli’s neck. They lay there, swathed in contentment, and let the silence repair the cracks made in their hearts by harsh words.

* * * * * * *

Light filtered through the sheer curtains onto Sean’s face, the sun catching the highlights in Sean’s eyes. Staring into their depths, Orlando traced the path of Sean’s features with a light touch, smoothing down eyebrows, trailing across that strong jaw, and coming to rest along his bottom lip. Sean reached out with his tongue and captured the marauding digit. He softly sucked it into the warmth of his mouth and played with it there, swirling his tongue around it, sucking harder and then softening again. Orli moaned with the pleasure of the pressure. He bucked against Sean, rubbing rapidly his hardening cock against Sean’s solid thigh.

The phone shrilled once. Sean released Orli’s finger from the damp prison of his mouth and shifted away to answer it. Orli whimpered at the lost contact and made a mad grab for Sean, catching him by the waist.

"I can make it worth your while to ignore that," he purred into Sean’s ear as he wrestled him down on the bed. Sean groaned as Orli’s hand snaked around to grasp his arousal. The phone rang again.

"Could," Sean swallowed a moan as Orli’s fist stroked down. He licked his lips and tried again. "Could be the girls... I told them I’d speak with them today... I should get it."

Orlando admitted defeat as the phone rang a third time. He kissed Sean’s shoulder and released his grip. Sean rolled over and grunted a greeting into the receiver.

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Where?"

"Yeah."

"He’s just across the hall. I’ll bang on his door and let him know."

"Yeah, alright, mate. See you there."

Sean replaced the phone on the hook, and rolled over. He caught the melancholic expression on Orli’s face, and realized he’d denied their relationship once more. They’d kissed and made up last night, but nothing had been settled, nothing had changed. He braced himself for the storm of anger that Orli typically unleashed at this point.

"What’s up?" Orli’s voice was calm and his expression measured.

"That was Lij," Sean answered cautiously. "Everyone’s getting together for Fellowship Lunch at one. Downstairs. Private dining room of the hotel restaurant. He... he was worried that you weren’t answering your phone, being as you were ill last night."

"Oh," Orli twisted his lips wryly. "Yeah, I wasn’t dealing too well."

Sean’s heart twisted. He thought, not for the first time, that he was doomed to hurt the ones he loved. "Orli, I’m sorry, I-"

"Shh," Orli smiled sweetly. "I don’t care. If yesterday proved anything, it’s that I need you. Tell the world, take it to our graves, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t ever leave me again. Promise?"

"Promise," Sean said solemnly. Something had changed, after all, then. He knew he should be glad that he’d got Orlando to see things his way, but the victory rang hollow in his chest. For the first time, he could truly see the life he was offering Orli. Alone on holidays, because it was a time for "family" and Sean would be with his girls. Constantly editing anecdotes to an acceptable content, because Sean couldn’t crop up in an intimate role in his stories. Half-truths, outright lies, and deception. What right did he have to ask that of Orlando? 

Paying penance for sins not yet committed, he wrapped his arms around Orli’s reclining form, forcing his back to arch. He leaned down and began to trail wet kisses across Orlando’s abdomen, stopping on the sun tattoo he loved so much. He sucked the sun into his mouth, and lightly bit into the skin as he stared directly into Orli’s dark, swirling eyes. He watched as they went cloudy with desire. 

He moved his mouth lower, slowly, until he reached his goal. He slid his mouth down the length, as far as he could go, relaxing the muscles in the back of his throat, until he was full of Orli. He breathed out through his nose and then in again, inhaling the masculine scent unique to his beloved. Up and down, scraping lightly with his teeth, making Orli tremble with need and want, he never broke eye contact. 

Fingers replaced lips, making Orli writhe as they brushed over him, at first with maddening lightness, then with more purpose. Then Sean was pushing in and Orli was overcome by the sensation of being filled, first burning, then slick-sliding hot. 

Stars swam in front of Orli’s eyes as the pleasure built in him like white-hot lava. He moaned unintelligibly as he erupted onto Sean’s palm. He watched, eyes heavy and lidded, as Sean licked every last drop from his hand. He gripped Orli’s hips and began to move faster and faster within him, almost pulling out with each stroke, until he reached the peak of his passion. With one final thrust, he found release deep inside Orli and collapsed forward, resting his head on Orli’s shaking stomach. 

They lay there, entwined and trembling and sated, enjoying together the slow return to earth. Sean sighed and turned his head. Suddenly, he bolted upright. "Oh, bugger!" He looked into Orlando’s startled face. "It’s half twelve... we are going to be so fucking late!"

Orli’s laughter bounced off the walls as they raced to the shower.

* * * * * * *

As they walked into the private dining room, twenty minutes late thanks to some unplanned shower antics, Sean watched as Orli’s demeanor altered. In mere seconds, he transformed himself from Sean’s lover to his mate. The change was subtle, but there nonetheless. One step farther away, tenderness replaced by good humor, and a conversational subject shift from their next vacation destination to the latest London hot spot.

"Trying to bring Sean into the next century of clubbing, are you now?" Billy hooted from the table where he was seated with Dom, Lij, Viggo, Ian, John, and Sean. "You’re wasting your breath, mate."

There were two vacant seats left at the table, one to the right of the head of the table where Elijah was seated, and one down the same side, next to Viggo. Between the empty places sat Billy and Dom. Orli plopped down next to Lij and began answering questions about his renewed health and taking good-natured ribbing about the puking incident of the previous evening. 

Sean paused, realizing that if he’d been faced with this scenario yesterday, he would take the seat next to Viggo and spend the whole meal pretending to ignore Orli’s existence. If Orlando could change, surely he could do no less. He walked past Orli’s seat and whacked Billy on the head.

"Oi! What the bleedin’ hell was that for?" a cross Billy looked up.

"Move down. I’m not done talking to Orlando about... that nightclub," Sean finished a bit lamely as he spouted the first excuse to come to mind.

"Jesus, you could have just asked," Billy complained, rubbing his head as he shoved Dom down one seat and moved over.

Orlando gazed up as Sean sat down next to him, a quizzical look putting the wrinkle Sean loved between his eyebrows. 

"So you were saying," Sean prompted as he leaned forward and turned to Orli, ostensibly to continue the conversation but actually using his body to block the view of the rest of the table as he put his hand on Orli’s knee under the table. At this small semi-public gesture of affection, never given to him before, Orli lit up from within. He laughed and picked up the thread of the story he’d started without missing a stitch. Sean wondered that no one else seemed to notice Orli’s special glow.

Conversations flowed around him, but Sean made only a superficial attempt to join in. Instead, he watched as Orlando chatted with the others while stealing glances downward to his lap, where Sean’s hand was caressing his kneecap. Subtly, Orli lowered his hand and placed it on top of Sean’s. They were holding hands under the tablecloth, like a couple of teenagers in the throes of first love. It was all Sean could do to harness the grin that kept threatening to steal across his face. 

The wine was poured, and Elijah decreed, "There ought to be a toast!"

Sean raised his glass, and the others followed suit. He gave Orli’s hand a loving squeeze as he offered his sentiments to the table. "To who we were, and to who we will become."

His heart hitched as Orli’s smile widened, and he felt Orlando tighten his grip in return. A promise offered, and accepted.


End file.
